


So Good To Be Bad With You

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: A Man's Choice [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: (Yes actual figging this time), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, And then tea, BDSM, Chastity Device, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub Play, Explicit Sexual Content, Figging, M/M, Panties, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Seriously just a lot of kink, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: A follow-up to "I Want To Be Your Boy" and this is smutty AS FUCK and VERY explicit. Seriously, read the tags. Just remember: everything that happens in this fic is completely consensual. It's all play, even if it hurt^^ (And there's tea)





	

John sips carefully on his tea. It’s one of his favourites. Black peach with just a sliver of cream. He discovered this coffee shop on his way home from Mr. Flint some weeks ago and it’s become his regular place those days he’s not at the university. That means, when he’s not busy, of course. The days when John could sleep the day away or skip classes to just hand around over a coffee for hours are over and he hasn’t missed them for a second.  
  
He has rules now. Carefully decided, with enough freedom to make the arrangement go unnoticed by others and enough restrictions to make John relax. The morning after his first proper meeting with Mr. Flint, John felt like a new person. The thought makes him blush over how pretentious and stupid it sounds, but that’s the most honest way to describe it. After John had been punished and fucked, he’d been served delicious scones with butter and jam. Mr. Flint had made them fresh for him. No one’s ever baked for John before.  
  
The memory is particularly sweet. John had fallen asleep in Mr. Flint’s bed, ass red and sore both inside and outside, completely knocked out from orgasms and relaxation. And then his sir had served him freshly made bread – baked just for him. Had John not cried out earlier that day and been out of tears, he’d probably sobbed all over the jam. And had he not been wearing his chastity device now, the memory would most certainly have made him hard. Since he’s not allowed to come without permission, the discrete lock around his cock is the only thing saving him from being disciplined if he lets his mind wander off.  
  
He’s not supposed to report his thoughts. They discussed that when making the terms and Mr. Flint consider mind control being damaging in the long run, consensual or not. When knowing what you’re not allowed to think of, knowing you’ll get punished for it, it’s more likely the mind will think of nothing but that thing and that’s not healthy. Mr. Flint doesn’t want that kind of control. What he does control, among other things, is when and how John is allowed to come. If he thinks John needs help with that, John has to wear the chastisty lock.  
  
The lock is smaller than the one they use back at Mr. Flint’s house, on order to be more discrete. It’s bright pink, made of elastic material and far easier to walk around with in public. To John’s surprise, it’s even comfortable – and effective. The realization that he’d probably would’ve needed one of these as a teen to be spared from the awkward feeling of having an unruly teenage boner to hide on bad moments, makes him smile over the tea. If his teenage self could see him in this pink chastity lock, he’d scream in horror. John smiles from the thought, not realising he’s blushing just a little and that three girls on a table not far from him, are constantly throwing glances at him over their coffee glasses. Not that it would make any difference if he did. His body belongs to no one but Mr. Flint now and sharing is not part of the deal.  
  
Mr. Flint decides what kind of underwear John can use, but no other clothes. What they do have is an agreement that Mr. Flint has the right to be displeased if he thinks John looks too messy or sluttish in public. He can’t decide on haircut, but on hair styles. John is supposed to have his hair neatly pulled back in a bun or ponytail when he’s at school or work. And no facial hair. That was a hard one, but John’s never wanted a big beard anyway and it doesn’t take much time to grow out a small beard again, so they agreed on a month without and then John is allowed to dismiss the rule if he wants to. But for now, he’s clean shaved all over except from his head.  
  
Going to the gym could’ve been a problem, but the place where John works out lies five minutes from his home so he doesn’t need to use the locker room or shower. Since he’s not using regular male underwear anymore and is soft and hairless as a baby all over except from his lower arms, things could get uncomfortable to say the least in a public locker room. John loves the fact that no one knows he has hairless armpits, chest, groin and legs. That he looks just like any other guy in his sportswear at the gym. Should anyone tug his pants down, they’d see his white lycra hotpants and smooth skin. And probably freak out.  
  
John moves a little on the chair. The panties are comfortably snug around his ass. He’s almost angry with himself for waiting this long with using panties instead of shorts. Since the meeting at Mr. Flint’s house, John’s not used regular men’s underwear at all. He’s not thrown them away, but they’ve been removed from their usual drawer. Now there’s only panties in all kinds of colours there, hipster models in silk, lycra and cotton. No patterns thou. John has never liked patterns and put in his veto against that. Mr. Flint agreed, because if John doesn’t feel comfortable in the panties, it doesn’t serve any of them good. John needs the rules and restrictions, he needs to be kept in line and disciplined, but underwears are a very personal matter. Mr. Flint has no wish to make John hate the things he’s wearing.  
  
The small chastity lock, the panties and the stay up stockings are all things no one can see. So is the plug in his ass. Invisible to others, very noticable for John. His loose-fit jeans, the checkered shirt in green and white and his black cardigan reveals nothing of Mr. Flint. John looks neat and clean today, a good thing unless he wants a spanking. Which he does, but… Well, lets just say it’s a bit confusing.  
  
John confesses his transgressions every night to Mr. Flint before he goes to bed. Half past ten, they talk over Skype. About their day, but mostly about John’s. Did he sleep in, skip breakfast, leave his bed unmade? Has he been late to classes, been unfocused or not did his best with the studies? Has he been rude or mean to anyone, impatient or showed other bad manners? Did he dress messy, not eat properly or skipped workout? And, most important to Mr. Flint and most confusing to John: has he been nice to himself?  
  
Nice. That means doing things that both are _and_ feel good. Workout, have a walk in the forest to get some fresh air and get away from the apartment and university. Eat healthy and don’t rush. John, who’s lived most of his life eating on the go or skip meals, either because he’s not had the option to actually have a proper meal due to a neglecting family, or because he’s not learned how to cook or cared to learn on his own. Mr. Flint’s face when John told him about instant noodles, instant coffee, toasties and cheap take-aways, had been priceless. One could think John had been living out of rat poison and the man had added the term that from now on, he had to eat properly or the deal was off.  
  
John agreed, of course, mostly because it seemed so fucking important to Mr. Flint, but he’d demanded some help to get started. Mr. Flint had provided him with easy and healthy recipes and even planned the first shopping round for him, ”to get started”, as he said. He’d not paid for it, John didn’t allow that, but he made the fucking list and John had to show him the receipt afterwards, as well as send him a pic of every damn meal he had for a week, to prove he was sticking to the deal. And this deal makes John feel very, very good.  
  
For the first time ever, he has a proper routine. He’s not had the kind of life before, allowing that. Too many uncertainties to count on. It’s been extremely difficult to make a structure on his own. John simply can’t. Not when no one holds him responsible for it, makes sure he sticks to it. To Mr. Flint, a healthy routine in very important and there are no excuses for John to be careless about that these days. Should he get sick or injured or something – overly tired without clear reason apparently counts too – there are exceptions from the routine, of course. Workout, school, parties, spankings or sex is completely out of the question if John isn’t feeling well. Should he be careless about his health, Mr. Flint gives him a punishment once John feels good enough to take it. And a freshly peeled ginger root and Mr. Flint’s lexan paddle or another equally painful device comes with that transgression and John _really_ wants to avoid that.  
  
His thoughts start wetting his panties. Sometimes he’s using really thin pantyliners when he has the chastity device on and the plug, to avoide visible spots. Not today, thou. He’s not allowed to masturbate, with one exception. He can use his dildo, if he doesn’t touch his cock and, of course, asks for permission first. John’s cock and ass are Mr. Flint’s now and if John wants to come, Mr. Flint must allow it.  
  
John has always been a slut. There’s no point in denying that. Although he’s always been very careful with protection, he’s been fairly careless about how many he’s fucking with. That’s a behavior Mr. Flint considers particularly naughty and that means _a lot_ of bare ass spanking in hindsight. John needs to be taught there are consequences for acting like that and naughty boys who allow strangers to fuck them, need to have that sluttish behaviour spanked away. And John knows he’s been very naughty for many years. That kind of behaviour isn’t erased after one session over the knee. The chastity lock is also a reminder of that. No one’s touching John’s cock without Mr. Flint’s permission, not even John.  
  
His housework routine and bedtime are also controlled by his master. John has to care for his home and not treat it like a dumpster. _Living in mess and shit, is to treat yourself as shit._ Mr. Flint is hard on that rule and transgressions makes him almost as disappointed as when John is careless with himself. He has no say in what kind of possessions or furniture John has, that’s a kind of control non of them wants. Mr. Flint is not his master in order to take over his life, but to support it. Neat and clean, tidy and healthy. That’s what’s important and to be honest, John hasn’t felt this good in years. He is Mr. Flint’s happily submissive boy, feeling free as bird with the strict bedtimes and cock cage. If John thinks too much about how fucked up this is, his mind would probably explode.  
  
The tea has gone a bit cold now and John realises he’s been daydreaming again. It’s Friday afternoon and Mr. Flint will pick him up in less than half an hour. John has taken pictures of his apartment, to show it’s cleaned and tidy. He has other transgressions he will get spanked for tonight, but a messy home aint one of them. He’s already earned a bare ass spanking for other things. Mr. Flint spanks him every week, with varying harshness. Always with pants pulled down, always over Mr. Flint’s lap. The man believes that position to be the best for John, possibly because it’s so humiliating and intimate. He also thinks it’s good for John to know he’s going to get spanked. It’s not supposed to be a surprise. Mr. Flint wants John to have time to think about his transgressions and the consequenses.  
  
Chastity device or not, John is getting more than a little horny now and his panties are wet. His jeans are dark today, thank God, because the panties wont suck up all the liquid his thoughts about Mr. Flint produces. Fuck. If he’s not getting less affected by this, he’ll have a figging coming tonight for coming in his pants without permission. In public. The only thing Mr. Flint’s rule about John thinking of his transgressions and the upcoming punishment does, is to produce more transgressions. The slick plug in his ass doesn’t exactly help either and without a single strange sound or expression, John comes in his pants. When he looks up from his cup, Mr. Flint stands there.  
  
”Good day, John.”  
”Oh… Good day, sir.”  
  
John rises quickly and knows immediately that Mr. Flint caught him coming. It’s nothing visual for others, but the beautiful, strict and damn sexy ginger knows anyway and he smirks when taking John’s hand.  
  
”There’s no point in linger here, right John?”  
”No, sir. I’m ready to go.”  
  
Mr. Flint holds the door for him and then offers his arm. He’s a true gentleman, so polite and kind. Showing anything of his dominance in public is out of the question. Discretion is his second name, from the amount of after shave he puts on, to how he talks in public. John loves it. It’s another world for him, to be treated in such a respectful manner. The last thing his master is, is vulgar.  
  
John doesn’t call him _master_ , though. A common _sir_ feels much better. Less obvious and John loves the discretion in the word. He can use it in public without anyone actually knowing what kind of _sir_ Mr. Flint is to him. Just like with the panties it’s a sign of his freely and happy submission to his strict lover no one can see.  
  
They walk to Mr. Flint’s car, a black Audi that’ just as discrete as the man himself. John’s lover is neither wealthy nor poor. He’s just a man, but still nothing like most men. He opens the door for John in a very natural way that speaks of an old habit, a way of behaving around other people that comes as easy as breathing. An inner security that makes John feel comfortable instead of insecure in his company. Mr. Flint has said there’s no point in obeying someone who doesn’t make you feel secure. That’s a way of thinking that’s completely new to John. Obedience is something he, before meeting Mr. Flint, has connected with fear and threats. Rules that all of a sudden can be changed depending on someones mood.  
  
John’s natural reaction to demands, is to revolt. Either directly or in silence. He’s always been good at reading people and when someone wants him to obey without question, it’s mostly because it makes the one in charge feeling good. Mr. Flint doesn’t need to make threats, just remind John of his dominance in a way that makes it feel natural to obey. And confess.  
  
They drive while doing a bit of small talk. Mr. Flint asks about how his week has been, tells a little about his own and wonders if John would like some tea when they’re home. Yes, John would very much like that. He likes Mr. Flint’s kitchen, it’s homey and warm and feels far more like a home than John’s own. Mr. Flint himself looks even more sexy than the last time. He’s not clean shaved and has no beard, but a soft stubble John wants to touch. But it’s still too early for that. He’s not to take initatives, but to trust his dominant lover to give him what he needs. And this man can make John come without a single touch. How much more dominance can one have over another man’s cock?  
  
When they’re inside the house and Mr. Flint has helped John with the coat, they repeat the procedure from last time. John spreads his legs and bends over to let his master control his underwear. The finger slips down easily to feel the wet lycra fabric in John’s panties. Just the small pressure, the searching move down his pants makes him more wet and wanting. If Mr. Flint would take a steady grip and tug, John’s jeans and panties would come down and reveal his buttocks. The skin stopped sting several days ago and John needs to be disciplined for several things now. If Mr. Flint keeps to their agreement, which John is very sure he will, John’s ass has a very unpleasant evening ahead. Or not, depending on how you see it.  
  
”You’re very wet, boy.”  
”Yes, sir.”  
”I don’t think I’ve ever met a boy who’s leaking as much as you. Even with the lock.”  
”I can’t help it, sir.”  
”No excuses, John.”  
”I’m sorry, sir. I know I’m unruly.”  
”There’s time to make something about that too. But before that: tea.”  
  
The rich brew is so much better than the weak cup he had at the coffee shop. Mr. Flint doesn’t use teabags, only ”proper” tea from a jar. John loves the blue and white tea cups, the sliver of honey that’s clearly not the usual cheap one from the supermarket. Mr. Flint offers him lavender biscuits to dip in the hot brew, two small pieces on a blue plate, and John keeps asking himself in silence, why this feels more special, more luxorious than an expensive dinner at a fancy restaurant.  
  
”How are you feeling today, John?”  
”A bit tired, sir.”  
”How so?”  
”I’ve had more to do than usual, sir.”  
  
That’s true. The rules about being neat and clean, behave in public and doing his best at school have been pretty easy to keep to this week. John’s transgressions are mostly about overworking. While he’s actually quite lazy, he has a tendency to do too much once he’s making an effort to do something. He gets caught up in what he’s doing and forgets about time, food and rest. In Mr. Flint’s eyes, that’s just as bad as being lazy. Fuck, John’s not even had a slap yet and he’s already crying.    
  
”Come and sit with me, John.”  
  
Mr. Flint is calm personalised. Sitting on his lap and just being hold without being questioned is exactly what John needs right now. He’s more tired than he thought, despite the comforting rules. His master can see this and allows John to rest his head on his shoulder.  
  
”I must say I thought you looked a bit pale, little darling. Tell me so I can help you fix it.”  
  
John tries to, but he feels erratic and gets angry with himself for not being able to speak clearly.  
  
”Fuck, I’m so stupid!”  
”Cursing and talking down on yourself, John? Are you glutton for punishment today, or what?”  
”No, I’m sorry, sir. I just… I don’t know what to say!”  
  
He’s not supposed to raise his voice either, but is not chastised for it. Instead, Mr. Flint holds him steady in his wonderfully warm and strong arms, shushing him.  
  
”It’s alright, sweetheart. Just take a deep breath… That’s it, little darling, relax. We’re not in a hurry here, right?”  
”No, sir.”  
”Then wait until you feel you can talk. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
This. Just having someone waiting for John. Waiting for him to find his words, to calm down without pushing or getting irritated, is so new to him. When he’s with Mr. Flint, John is important enough to be heard. After some minutes, he can talk.  
  
”I overworked myself, sir.”  
”That’s what I thought, but I’m glad you’re telling me yourself. What did you do?”  
”I stayed at school until the library closed three times this week and I forgot to have a proper dinner. And I didn’t went to bed until two or even three.”  
”That was a very wrong thing to do, John.”  
”I know, sir.”  
”Then why did you do it? You forgot about the rules?”  
”No, sir. I just… didn’t think. I have no good excuse at all, sir.”  
”At least you’re honest, John. What else?”  
  
It feels different to make his confession on Mr. Flint’s lap. Not easier, but less shameful than on his hands and knees in Mr. Flint’s bed. The list of transgressions feels longer now as he tells them. The shame John feels is about having disappointed his master. That feels somehow worse than not being good to himself, a feeling he feel the need to confess as well and the man shakes his head.  
  
”Have you no respect for yourself, John? I’m proud of you for telling me everything, that proves how serious you’re taking your duty to report it all to me. And yes, I’m very pleased you’ve not been slacking or rude, that you’ve did well with cleaning and not been drinking. But what have I told you about skipping meals, not get enough sleep and… _smoking_?”  
”I have nothing to say in my defence about that, sir.”  
”I’m glad you’re not trying to make excuses, because you’re already in for a severe punishment, John.”  
”I took a long walk in the woods three nights ago, sir.”  
”At what time?”  
”One in the morning, sir.”  
”And your reason for that was?”  
”I couldn’t sleep, sir.”  
”Then why didn’t you call me, John?”  
”I… I didn’t want to wake you up, sir…”  
”I see. And instead you took a walk in the woods, all alone?”  
”Without my beanie.”  
  
Mr. Flint sighs.  
  
”Anything else?”  
”I think that’s all, sir.”  
”Thank heavens. I’m seriously getting worried about you, boy. I’d hoped I could be a little less hard on you today, since you’re so tired, but I’m afraid I have to do the exact opposite.”  
  
John understands he must look afraid, because Mr. Flint gives him a soft kiss on his forehead.  
  
”You do trust me, John?”  
”If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, sir.”  
”Good boy. Now, go out on the backporch. There’s a blue bucket there to bring back inside.”  
  
John nods and leaves the man’s lap. The backporch is quite large and next to the door is the blue bucket. It’s filled with water and… Oh, God. John swallows hard, feeling his heart raise. _Birch tree rods._  
  
”Are you coming, John?”  
”Y-yes, sir.”  
  
He brings the bucket inside the kitchen, realising he probably looks horrified and Mr. Flint takes it before kissing him.  
  
”Sit down, sweetheart. You have a little work to do.”  
  
Supervised by his master and blushing from the humiliation, John starts binding the soaked rice to a switch. When he’s done, Mr. Flint hands him a peeler and a fairly large piece of fresh ginger. John bites back a moan he’s not sure if it’s from worry or anticipation. He starts peeling and just as it seems like worry has advantage, Mr. Flint puts an arm around him from behind and buries his nose in John’s hair.  
  
”Don’t worry, John. I’ll make you feel so good, I promise. Just take your punishment as a good boy and you’ll be rewarded.”  
  
Mr. Flint’s voice, as always when being low and promising, makes John feel like he’s high. He follows his master to the bedroom, holding the switch in one hand and the peeled ginger in the other. He must be mad for doing this. Mr. Flint has put a steady stool by the bed and he starts folding up his shirt sleeves, showing off that lovely freckled skin John is mesmerized by. He takes the switch and ginger, sits down on the stool, widening his legs a little and pats his lap.  
  
”Pull down your jeans and panties, boy. Then widen your legs.”  
  
He’s extremely wet and it’s a relief to pull down the sticky fabrics. He spreads his legs and Mr. Flint takes off the chastity locker.  
  
”Bend over.”  
  
The feeling is a mix of humiliation, anticipation and a irrestistable longing, just as before. The stool is placed so that John can lie over Mr. Flint’s lap and lean down his abdomen on the bed. Mr. Flint gives him a large pillow.  
  
”You may need this, boy. Relax now.”  
  
Relax? _Easy for you to say, sir,_ is something John doesn’t say but thinks he has every right to say, when Mr. Flint slicks the large, peeled ginger with lube and presses it slowly inside John’s ass.  
  
”Good boy. Now squeeze your buttocks.”  
  
John obeys and then he has to squeeze and bite the pillow. He tries not to squirm, but the sting is far worse with the fresh ginger than the oily plug. He can feel a stench from the water still lingering on the switch and then, without further warning, his master starts spanking him.  
  
It’s a damn luck Mr. Flint’s nearest neighbour lives at least thirty meters away from his house – and is a very old lady with hearing problems. At least John hopes she has that, because his screams are fucking feral, even when pressing his face into the pillow. He’s begging for forgiveness, promising to be good and finally he begs Mr. Flint to please stop, because he really can’t take it anymore now. The soaked switch and the raw piece of ginger breaks him until he feels like a pile of sore crusts.  
  
”Please, _please_ , sir, take it out! I beg you!”  
  
To his big surprise and relief, Mr. Flint stops spanking him, widens his legs and removes the stinging torture device – only to push it back inside again. He moves it back and forth for a while, ignoring John’s cries. The sting is more than John can take and he starts kicking his legs and squirming, being impossible to handle, until Mr. Flint finally removes the awful vegetable. He starts massaging John’s buttocks, using gentle strokes.  
  
”Calm down, John. If you can’t take it anymore, just say so.”  
”I can’t… not the ginger root, sir. Please…”  
”Relax, little darling, you’ve had enough of that. But we’re not nearly done yet. Are you going to be a good boy and lie still?”  
”Yes, sir. I’ll try.”  
”Good boy.”  
  
He’s being rearranged, hair gently tucked behind his ears and Mr. Flint strokes his back and shoulders for a while. Then, when John has calmed down a bit, his master takes up the switch again.  
  
John has never been punished in this way. It’s very painful, stings something awful and there’s a lingering burning from the ginger inside his ass. When Mr. Flint stops spanking him, John shouts because the firm hand immediately starts rubbing his sore skin, pressing his leaking cock harder against the man’s thigh and then he comes, just like the last time, squirting all over Mr. Flint’s lap while his buttocks and hole are being caressed with aloe lotion.  
  
A part of him believed he would be crying a little less this time. Probably a part that’s not been on fire from Mr. Flint’s hand. Or a switch and raw ginger. The worst sting is eased pretty quickly from the soothing lotion and Mr. Flint’s calm, soft voice telling John how good he is. But he’s still wetting the pillow with his tears.  
  
It’s as if it comes easier. Like his mind has somehow been prepared to cry and simply dwell in it for as long as possible. It’s cleansing but he’s so sensitive now, not only on and in his ass, but his whole body seems to be vulnerable and as Mr. Flint moves him to the bed, John tugs at his shirt.  
  
”Please, sir… May I just rest a little?”  
”Of course, sweetheart. You’ve been so good, you’re all forgiven now.”  
”You’re not disappointed in me, sir?”  
”Not at all, John.”  
  
He’s not being left alone this time. Mr. Flint lays down next to him and pulls him to his chest. He arranges the cover over them, but leaves an opening for John’s red skin. John feels so incredibly light. Fluttering, the burning fire is out and what’s left are the glowing embers that are his heated skin and boiling mind. He snuggles into Mr. Flint’s warm embrace, his steady heartbeats that assure John everything is just as it should be.  
  
”Will you stay with me now, sir? Until I’m asleep?”  
”Of course. Whatever you want, little darling.”  
”Thank you, sir.”  
  
He needs the closeness now. Needs Mr. Flint to just hold him in his arms like a human shield, protecting him from the world. John can’t remember when was the last time he could feel weak and needy and just know he’d be taken care of. Perhaps it’s never happened with anyone but Mr. Flint. John craves this protection and permission – even encouragement – to give in for the need.  
  
He’s being cuddled, petted and kissed. Mr. Flint touches him so carefully, knowing where John is ticklish or just overly sensitive and avoid those areas. He’s swirling John’s curls around his fingers, nibbles his earlobe and plants kisses on his nosetip.  
  
”I’m your only boy, aint that right, sir?”  
”The only one I want, sweetheart.”  
”You wouldn’t let anyone else fuck me or see my panties…”  
”Never.”  
”What would you do if I showed my panties to someone else, sir? If I was really naughty…”  
”Then you wouldn’t be able to sit on that pretty ass in a months, boy.”  
  
John almost purrs from that and curls up even closer to his dominant lover. Mr. Flint gives him a slow, deep kiss.  
  
”You will not have my cock today, John.”  
”But… I want to. Did I do something wrong, sir?”  
”It is not a punishment, little darling. I have something else in mind for you. But now, you’re going to sleep a little. You need it.”  
”Yes, sir.”  
”And you’re not leaving the bed without my permission.”  
”I wouldn’t dream about it, sir.”  
  
Mr. Flint tucks him in properly and it doesn’t take long before John’s falling asleep. The weariness is huge, it has been for many days now and his exhausted mind quickly surrenders to rest.  
  
When he wakes up, he’s been sleeping for some hours and Mr. Flint sits on the bed. John gives a sleepy smile and reaches for the man to hug him. The ginger chuckles and pulls him close, nuzzling the soft skin on John’s neck.  
  
”You’re so cute when you’re sleeping, John. Especially when you’re snoring.”  
”I’m not snoring, sir!”  
”Yes, you are, and it’s very sweet. You sound like a little cat.”  
  
John blushes and curls in to his arms, pressing at his frame to rub against the man’s cock. The fabric hides it and Joh whines a little. He’s hard and wet again, and judging by the bulge in Mr. Flint’s pants, so is he.  
  
”May I suck your cock, sir?”  
”Not today, John.”  
”Oh, please, sir! It tastes so good and I’d make you feel so good.”  
”I know you would, little darling, but I decide what you can do, right?”  
”Of course, sir. I’m sorry I was whining.”  
”I forgive you. Now, my sweet boy, I want you to sit up, facing me and squat.”  
”Beside you or on top of you, sir?”  
”Beside me.”  
  
John hurries to obey. He plants his feet as steady as possible and waits, with his cock hanging swollen and dripping between his thighs. Mr. Flint takes the lube, but he doesn’t undress or slick his cock. Instead he spread the lube over his index finger, sits in front of John and puts his slicked finger right under John’s quivering hole.  
  
”Lower yourself slowly, boy.”  
  
The slick finger slides in like nothing. Just a brushing of his skin. John lowers himself all the way down to the last knuckle and Mr. Flint looks at him with a challenging glimpse in his eyes.  
  
”Open your eyes and look at me. Good boy. Now ride.”  
   
Sliding up and down the finger, ass cheeks still sore from the spanking and his hole already wide and sensitive with a hint of lingering burn from the ginger, while looking at Mr. Flint’s green, feral eyes is watching his every move, is the most exquisite torture.  
  
”Look at your cock, boy.”  
  
John’s hip rolls while rising and lowering over Mr. Flint’s finger, make his cock fall up and down with, smearing Mr. Flint’s hand and lower arm with precum and it makes a smacking sound when flapping between John’s belly and Mr. Flint’s arm. The veins on his cock is popping out, the head is as red as his ass, swollen and dripping and without a warning, Mr. Flint adds another finger. John’s moan is also a whine.  
  
”You like my fingers, boy?”  
”God yes, sir!”  
”You want them inside that pink, tight little hole, right?”  
”Yes, sir.”  
  
John rides the slick fingers like he rides a cock. Ass rocking back and forth to stretch wide, up and down to reach deep on the way down and tease the entrance on the way out. He clenches around them, tries to make them go deeper and Mr. Flint chuckles.  
  
”You should see yourself now, John. So shameless and eager, like a little slut.”  
  
John moans from that, pushed closer from the words and the voice just as much as the stretch from the fingers. Mr. Flint adds a third and starts meeting John’s lowerings with hard thrusts, turning John’s moans into breathy whines.  
  
”You want to come, right?”  
”Yes, sir…”  
”You want to come so badly, you’re twitching and turning over my fingers so desperately… Your hole is so pretty, so wet and eager…”  
  
He’s so sensitive, every nerve end in his ass is screaming for touch, to be filled with something more. Sweat is breaking out over his face and chest, he can’t reckognize his own voice anymore. The feral noises he makes doesn’t sound human anymore, just a mix of high whimpers and sobs. He’s being kept on edge, another finger and he’d be able to come, but Mr. Flint makes him squirm and cry, ignoring his pleas.  
  
The rocking, the way Mr. Flint’s fingers curve inside him will make John mad for real. He’s lost for anything but the chase for release and he’s crying hysterically, eyes dripping as much as his painfully ignored cock. Mr. Flint’s lower arms is smeared with two kinds of tears and when John’s voice breaks from his sobs and beggings, Mr. Flint folds four fingers together and push them inside John’s needy hole, while rubbing his thumb hard along his perineum.  
  
John’s scream reminds nothing of a human sound. It’s a sound of raw, feral and completely shameless lust, reminding almost of the cry of an injured animal. The surroundings, the room and even Mr. Flint, are wiped out from John’s mind. He’s alone, his flesh a quivering mess of pleasure and blood pumping so hard his veins are popping out on his body as he comes without a single touch on his cock. He paints his belly with his own seed and then Mr. Flint lowers down to take the throbbing cock in his mouth, licking it clean from the fluid, while still massaging John’s perineum and hole. When John whines from the sensitivity, Mr. Flint lets his cock fall from his lips, opens up his pants and starts stroking himself.  
  
”Please, sir, let me…”  
  
Mr. Flint replaces his own hand with John’s. The cock feels so thick and hot in his hand, dribbling and sensitive and John rubs his thumb hard over the slit before wrapping his hand around the shaft and rubbing the head over his perineum. He’s barely conscious, but he can hear his master’s breaths speed up, his hands squeezing John’s calves so tight it almost hurts and then, with a loud groan, Mr. Flint comes all over John’s perineum.  
  
John lets go of Mr. Flint’s cock and lets his hand fall to the side. He can’t move now, can’t even cry. He’s so completely _fucked_ , body and mind conquered in full by Mr. Flint and for a moment John truly believes he could die happy now. He can’t feel pain anymore and doesn’t give a flying fuck about how sore he will be once his mind stops floating around in post coital bliss.  
  
”Have I been a good boy to you, sir?”  
  
His voice can barely be heard and then he feels the warm lips against his ear.  
  
”The very best. How are you feeling?”  
  
John lets out a breathy laughter, grasping for the hand that strokes his cheek so gently. He brings the hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over the knuckles.  
  
”Honestly, I have no idea, sir, but whatever it is, it’s good. So damn good to be bad with you…”


End file.
